Practical Ghosts
by Claquesous
Summary: How foolish she had been all those years ago, to blame this house for the evils she encountered, when she had been sleeping in the arms of the devil.
1. Chapter 1

"I never knew daylight could be so violent."

**No Light, No Light **by Florence + The Machine

Violet stood silently over the crib containing the two newborn babies; a boy and a girl. Nathan and Grace— and both would have been beautiful babies, beautiful twins, but Nathan was cursed as all the previous children borne in this house had been cursed.

"Brain damage," the doctors had calmly explained to her hysterical mother, "But he'll be alright."

Grace was unmarred, and Vivien had named her for her good luck— what a beautiful baby Grace was, beautiful and untainted.

Nathan began crying, and Violet picked him up into her arms and shushed him, not wanting her parents to wake up. They deserved the sleep, after all they had been through.

Grace simply stared at her with those big doe-brown eyes and didn't make a sound as her brother's hiccupping sobs died.

Violet stared at her little sister, fascinated by those familiar eyes that were nothing like her father's and looked everything like Tate's.

A familiar pang stabbed at her heart and she pushed her fellow ghost out of her mind. God, _Tate_.

When she first found out she was dead, she had been horrified, devastated. She had meant to commit suicide to get away from the world, not be stuck in this damn house for the rest of eternity. But the one comforting thought was that _at least she had Tate_.

Until her father had regained consciousness and started screaming around the house for his daughter, and she had raced to get to him before he accidentally got Tate's attention instead.

And, so soon after setting her gaze on her poor dead body, she learned from her crying father that her boyfriend—the man she was now forced to spend all eternity with—was her mother's rapist and the father of one of the babies.

And that was even before she addressed the issue of her death.

"Daddy," she had sobbed into his pressed shirt, "Daddy I'm so, so sorry," she cried.

"Shh baby, it's okay, you didn't know. It'll be okay. We'll get out of this damned house and it'll be okay," he tried to comfort her through his own sorrow, and she only cried harder.

"I can't leave," she cried, and Ben pulled away to study her face.

"We can Violet, and we will— all of us— your mother, me, you, and the babies," he told her sternly, and she shook her head. Then told him the truth.

His sound of disbelief was the worst, the broken laugh that escaped his lips and the mournful choke of anguish as she explained the full situation to him.

For whatever reason, Tate had stayed away for the duration of that conversation, choosing only to appear to her weeks later with red-rimmed eyes and a not-good-enough apology that fell on deaf ears.

"_My mother!"_ Violet had shrieked at him, "_You impregnated my mother! You raped her!"_

And he had begged for her forgiveness, explained, half-sobbing himself, that it was all for Nora, poor Nora who had lost her baby in life and wanted her own in death.

So Violet stayed away from the other ghosts of the house as well in a self-imposed exile. She avoided Tate entirely, Moira when she could get away with it, and categorized Nora as just as much of a bitch as Hayden was.

She learned to only stay around her parents— around a heavily pregnant mother who never noticed that her daughter never left the house and always seemed to pop up when Vivien needed her, and a father who was still coming to terms with the facts of his daughter's death and future child's paternity.

Neither Ben nor Violet told Vivien the truth about Violet: it was too dangerous, Ben had agreed with Violet, to say anything so close to the birth of the twins.

And now the twins were here, and Violet busied herself with taking care of them when her parents were unable to.

Tate called for her, sometimes. His whispers would carry across the house and echo against the walls. The reverberations of his voice prickled her skin like the hot breath of his mouth, and she shuddered.

What a goddamn tragedy this romance was turning out to be.

She ignored his summons every time.


	2. Chapter 2

"And I'd do anything to make you stay."

**No Light, No Light **by Florence + The Machine

Vivien and Ben Harmon stayed in the Murder House with their two new children. Ben couldn't bring himself to leave his eldest in this haunted house by herself, and Vivien refused to act as though there was anything wrong with her ghost daughter.

Violet and Ben had, one cold night, steeled their resolves and buried her dead, rotting body in the yard of the house near the willow tree. The official story, to the authorities who had asked, was that Violet had run away from home.

It was believable, everyone agreed, that such a disturbed teenager would run from this broken family. And the world saw that losing their eldest daughter forced the adult Harmons to become closer.

Vivien leaned on Ben in her grief, and Ben on Vivien. Violet watched her parents mournfully, thankful that at least her death had served the purpose of bringing them together again.

"She treats me like I'm still alive!" Violet raged at her father as she slammed the shovel onto the ground to pack down the fresh mound of dirt.

Ben watched his daughter warily, still unused to being the one that she confided in.

"Your mother loves you so much, Vi," he told her, "She's having a tough time adjusting. You're here, like you've always been here, and it's too much for her to think that you're dead."

Violet finished packing the dirt over her 12-foot grave and glanced up towards Ben, blue eyes burning. "She can't keep pretending," she said, her voice low and accusing. "She can't keep pretending that I'm not dead, Dad. I'm dead, and you guys are going to grow old, and the babies will grow old, and I'll always be here. You're never going to see me grow old, have babies, go to college, or accomplish anything. I'm dead."

Ben watched as she threw the shovel down onto the ground and stomped away back towards the house. Violet, even in death, was a stronger person than she knew.

So the Harmons stayed in the Murder House, and the twins grew older.

Violet watched with no small amount of disgust as Nora went to stroke five year-old Grace's head of blonde curls that looked so much like her father's.

Grace enjoyed playing with the woman, pretending that she had two mothers. No one wanted to be Nathan's, ugly little Nathan's, mother. Grace preened in the attention that everyone showered upon her, and Violet noticed all of this with a distinct sense of unease.

Although she would never admit it to either of her parents, she much preferred Nathan's company. Nathan, sweet and mentally handicapped, was used to living in his twin sister's shadow.

"Veeeeeee!" he giggled prettily as she entered in the playroom where he was stacking legos.

"Hi Natey," she cooed and went over to sit by him and build with him.

"Veeee," he repeated, smashing two blocks together. Violet grinned. There was nothing outwardly wrong with Nathan, but he was slow to develop, a fact which was all the more painfully obvious as his sister began to pick up words with intelligent fluidity.

Tate watched as she built skyscrapers with those blocks. Cities and worlds that she was now unable to roam as a dead girl but that she had always wanted to visit.

He stood in the shadow of the doorframe, studying the way her face lit up around her brother. His heart ached to touch this wonderful girl who he had been so consumed with want for, but he never showed himself. He knew she would flee, and for now, he was content to just study her.

Seeing Violet interact with Nathan made Tate think about what their child could have looked like— about a curly-haired little girl or boy who didn't just look like him, as Grace did, but shared Violet's features. Her eyes, her mouth, her bone structure: there was something that settled low in his stomach, knowing that even if she had been alive, such a child wouldn't be possible. Not when her own mother was bearing one of his children.

It had been five years since he had spoken a word to Violet…or, more correctly, since she had spoken a word to him.

He had tried at first, of course, to get her attention by begging for her forgiveness and forcing his presence upon her hoping to gain, at the very least, her pity. But Violet was strong, and Violet was stubborn, and Violet was angry.

There would be no forgiveness from this angel of his, who loved her family with a fierceness that Tate would never be able to match.

"_If you love someone,"_ he remembered himself saying to her a millennia ago, _"You should never hurt them."_

What a load of bullshit that had been. He had meant it at the time, but by then, weren't his biggest sins already committed?

He tried to protect her when he had fallen in love, but by then, it was too late: he had already hurt her, she just didn't know it at the time.


	3. Chapter 3

"And the only solution was to stand and fight."

**Only If For A Night **byFlorence + The Machine

Violet looked up from her book at the sound of her brother's harsh cries of pain. Immediately, she focused her mind on him and appeared by his side, but she was unprepared for the sight she was faced by.

Standing beside the young wailing boy was Grace, a dark gleam in her otherwise pretty eyes as she wrenched her brother's arm behind his back even harder at the appearance of older sister.

"Grace!" Violet ran over to Nathan's aid, trying to pull the girl off of him. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded of the ten year-old who was still grinning, delicate wisps of golden curls framing her cherubic face.

"Playing," she shrugged, letting go of him. Nathan scrambled into Violet's arms.

"Veeee!" he sobbed, burying his face in her shirt. Violet shook her head in disbelief, holding her scared brother closely to her as she studied her sister in a new light.

"You don't _play_ with anyone by hurting them!" Violet raged, "If you love someone, you should never hurt them," she said, the words echoing a long-forgotten truth in her ears.

Grace simply gave Violet a pretty little smile with those bow lips of hers. "Nathan knows that I was just playing— he's such a weak baby. He's so dumb he can't even get away from me even though he's twice my size!" she boasted, the glint never leaving her eyes.

Violet shook her head and soothed her brother with calming whispers and strokes to his hair.

If Violet hadn't already arrived at the destination, she probably would've gone to hell for favoring her brother so strongly over her sister.

But Nathan was sweet and innocent and so untouched by the horrors of this house in his childlike wonder, whereas Grace seemed to thrive in it. Nathan liked to play with Beau— Grace played with the jagged-toothed monsters in the basement.

Violet, if she were to be honest, was more than a little unnerved by her younger sister. Grace didn't look like Vivien. Grace was the spitting image of Tate, with her too-innocent smiles and easy manipulation of the adults in the house.

Upon thinking his name, Violet felt a chill breeze across her back, and she looked up to see him standing in the doorframe.

While she still refused to speak to him, he had taken to manifesting himself around her anyways. Tate stood in the doorframe and watched with an angry expression as his daughter spoke back to Violet in such a smug tone.

"Grace," he barked, "Apologize," he demanded. And Grace had enough grace to look repentant for her actions in front of her paternal father, though there was no way she could have known that that's what Tate was to her—a father.

Grace, in all of her fucked-upedness, thought that Ben Harmon was her dad, and Ben, for all his flaws, treated her as he had treated Violet; as though Grace were his little girl.

But Tate was a beloved playmate of Grace, along with Nora, who Grace had the audacity to call "Mom" whenever Vivien wasn't around.

"I'm sorry Nathan," Grace murmured sweetly, reaching out to touch her brother's own brown curling locks. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I love you," she cooed, and Nathan looked up from where he had buried his face in Violet's cardigan.

He didn't say anything— wasn't capable of saying anything, the poor boy— but responded to his twin's apology well. He allowed Grace to clasp his hand in her own, and happily went to go to his twin's side.

Violet frowned, uneasy as a smile lit up her favorite sibling's face.

But the problem was solved for now, and she was no longer needed nor wanted. She shoved past Tate standing in the doorframe and slapped away the hand he proffered towards her.

"Stay _away_ from me, you freak!" she hissed, careful that neither of her siblings overheard her.

Tate's face was a mask of anguish, his bottom lip quivered.

"Violet," he whispered hoarsely, "Violet please…"

But she ignored his pleas as she had for the last ten years and walked away without a second glance in his direction.

Violet went to her father's office, where she knew he'd be working on patient files.

"Hey Dad," she knocked, and he looked up with a grin.

"Hey stranger," he welcomed her. He had aged well in the past 10 years since his newest kids' birth, with a few gray strands of hair and a nonetheless handsome face.

"You need to talk to your kids," Violet sighed, feeling like an underappreciated babysitter, "I just found Grace pulling Nathan's arm behind his back—you know Nathan, Dad," Violet sat down, "He can't defend himself."

Ben sighed and placed his head in his hands, silent.

Then he spoke up. "I try, Vi," he admitted, "I try to do for Grace what I did for you, and she's just nothing like you were when you were young. Parenting Grace is just such a different experience from parenting you; it's like I don't know how to be a good dad anymore," he looked up to her with woeful eyes, and Violet offered him a wry grin.

"You're a great dad," she assured him. "Especially now that you and mom have got your shit together. Grace just needs some guidance is all. It's bound to be hard for her with an older sister who never ages and the parental focus on Nathan."

But even as the words left her lips, there was a flicker of doubt behind them.

Grace wasn't just misguided; she could be downright cruel.

A thought nagged in the dark recesses of Violet's mind, but just as soon as she reached out to grasp it, it receded back into the depths of her consciousness.

She was interrupted out of her thoughts by the deep baritone of her father's voice.

"Violet," Ben started, looking older and wearier than he ever had before this, "I just want you to know that I am so proud of you. Even though this isn't how either of us expected the future to pan out, you've still grown up so much. I know that you don't look much different,"

"Dad—!" Violet protested, embarrassed, but he held up a hand for her to be quiet and continued.

"I know that you don't look much different from ten years ago, but you're so mature, Vi. You're a woman, and I couldn't be more proud."

Violet blushed, running uneasy fingers through her messy blonde hair that looked the same as it had all those years ago.

"Thanks Dad. I love you too," she flashed him a wry grin, and he waved her off with an embarrassed smile on his own face.

She left the office and meandered her way up to the library. To her surprise, she found Moira dusting the shelves when she entered. Moira was very good at keeping the house clean, but since Violet's death, the old woman had respected Violet's wishes and kept her distance.

"Moira?" Violet asked questioningly, and the maid turned to stare at her with that cloudy glass eye.

"We haven't really talked these past years," the maid said nonchalantly, "I just thought that maybe you'd appreciate a listening ear."

Violet approached her slowly, cautiously. "What do you know about Grace?" she asked carefully, and Moira flashed her a mysterious smile. It looked out of place on her wrinkled face.

"She's more like her father than any of you know," Moira told her, and Violet frowned.

"Tate…?" Her face was quizzical, but her mind was racing.

"But, tread carefully dear. Your lovely sister has none of his redeeming qualities that made you fall in love."

And with that Moira left the room, and Violet was alone. She considered Moira's words, a muted, icy panic flooding through her veins.

"Tate…" she whispered, and her voice raised in her panic. "Tate? Tate!" she called for him frantically, a sluggish pounding in her chest.

He stepped out of the shadows, his eyes red from perpetual tears and anguish, but they were hopeful in a way that they hadn't been for years.

Violet stared at him, uncomprehending. "What is Grace?" she asked him hollowly, feeling sick.

Tate shook his head forlornly, stepping closer to her: visibly upset when she took a step of equal distance backwards.

She watched numbly as he straightened his back, seeming to grow another two inches.

"Why did you call me, Violet?" He asked softly, his voice low and dangerous.

"Because I need to know the truth!" Violet's voice raised in pitch. "Don't you think you owe me that, at the very least?"

Beautiful as ever, a small smile, deceptively gentle, slid across those bow lips he had passed onto Grace.

"I would give you the world," he told her.

"Then tell me the truth! _What is Grace_?" Violet pressed, eyes wild as he walked towards her, looking more like a predator stalking his prey.

Her back pressed up against the bookshelf as he cornered her, reaching a hand out to caress her face.

She shuddered; her stomach flopped. She hated him for what he forced her mother to endure; she hated him for not trying hard enough to save her; she hated him for not loving her enough to not hurt her.

"Violet," he whispered, and his breath ghosted over her lips.

His head leaned towards hers so that their faces were inches apart. "Violet," he whispered again, longingly, and captured her lips with his own.

Her brain froze, her body cried. His lips were soft and coaxing, and she was so, so deprived. Her brain hated this boy, but her body knew this boy better than anyone else on the face of this earth.

A choking sob forced its way out of her throat, past her lips and into his mouth.

Tate simply swallowed her sound of anguish and mashed his lips against hers harder, so violently that their teeth gnashed and her lip must have split. He was consuming her, drinking her soul from its cage.

Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, and she slapped him.

Tate seemed to realize the situation and staggered backwards, eyes as wild as her own.

She wiped the blood that had dribbled to her chin from her busted lip and the tears from her cheeks, glaring at him fiercely.

"That girl is not _normal_," Violet said lowly, when she could finally speak, and buried her own indignant anger to focus on her previous question. "There's something evil living in Grace," she accused.

Tate grinned, a sinister, attractive slope of the lips. "What can I say?" he smirked, "She's my daughter, through and through."

And Violet couldn't stop the strangled cry that left her mouth, and allowed herself to collapse onto the nearest seat as soon as Tate left the room.

How foolish she had been all those years ago, to blame this house for the evils she encountered, when she had been sleeping in the arms of the devil.


End file.
